Run Away (15 page)

Chapter 23

July 17, England

T
HE LAST PERSON
Kayla had expected to see sitting on her beloved tree swing as she jogged breathlessly past was her nan. Even when they were little, nobody had ever come to this part of the garden. It was her and Gabe’s private den. Kayla stopped running and walked over, tapping her nan on the shoulder before realizing just how strange the scene was.

A paperback novel was open, facedown, on the grass—­Kayla cringed at the thought of the damp grass staining its pages green—­next to her nan’s slippered feet. Nan was wearing a tatty old dressing gown and very little else, and her eyes were bleary and pink. It was the first time Kayla had seen her without glasses in years.

Iris didn’t jump in surprise. She turned around slowly, sniffing. “Oh hello, Kayla love. I’m sorry I’m dressed like this, I’d just got out of the shower and felt a little dizzy. I think I ran the water too hot.” Her eyes were out of focus and her body was slack and droopy.

“Are you okay, Nan? You don’t look too good . . .”

“Nonsense, I’m fine.” A watery smile. “How are you doing, anyway, poppet?”

Kayla sat down cross-­legged on the grass. She was less than half a kilometer from the house and her legs were already starting to cramp. “I’m all right. Missing Thailand and my friends a bit. And Gabe, of course.” She plucked two daisies from their beds and busied her hands making a daisy chain.

“We all do, Kayla. We all do.”

Kayla knew instinctively that telling Nan about Aran’s mission would do more harm than good, but the words were already spilling out of her mouth by the time she’d changed her mind. “I’m finding out who did this to him,” she blurted out.

Iris appeared confused, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head. “But he did this to himself?”

“I mean who sent him the messages. Who drove him to it.” Kayla waited for her nan to ask how, but all of the color had drained from her face. “Oh, Kayla,” Iris’s bottom lip quivered. She pressed her lips together to steady it. “Why would you do such a thing? We’re all just starting to move on with our lives and—­”

“How? By running away and drinking and never talking about it?”

“Please.” Nan’s voice was almost a whisper. “Please don’t make us go through this again. I don’t know if I can deal with it . . . I’m sick of crying myself to sleep every night as it is, and if we had to go through a trial too . . .”

Kayla hadn’t considered the criminal implications—­she had selfishly focused on providing a face to direct her own internal anger toward.
Typical me
. “I’m sorry, Nan, I hadn’t thought of it like th—­”

Iris let out an animal-­sounding wail. She was trembling violently. “Promise you won’t chase it Kayla. Please. I can’t—­”

“Nan, I promise. It’s okay.” Kayla clambered to her feet and hugged her grandmother, rubbing her back to try and warm her up. “I’ll leave it alone. I’m sorry, I didn’t think.” Nan’s tears soaked through her cotton workout tank top. Kayla felt terrible. Her nan never cried.

Iris conjured up a tissue from somewhere deep inside her sleeve and dabbed gingerly at her face. “I’m sorry for getting so upset. It’s been a horrible day. You go for your run, sweetheart, don’t let your silly old nan keep you. It’s nice to see you out of the house, you look so sporty in all your gear.” She smiled bravely.

As Kayla jogged away, she was surprised by how hard the wave of love for her nan hit her.

A
R
O
U
N
D
T
W
O
M
I
L
E
S
into the run, Kayla’s mind started to wander. Gabe.

Could any of them have saved him? Could this have been stopped?

How could we miss the signs that he was so depressed? So alone?

But we didn’t, she thought, her trainers pounding the woodland trail. We didn’t miss the signs. They were all there. We just didn’t know what to do with them,. How to help him.

Five months earlier—­or was it six?—­she’d tried to talk to Gabe. Tried to interject.

His voice had never sounded so cold. “Go.”

“Gabe?” she’d whispered, kneeling down and gently touching his shoulder. It was bonier than it used to be.

“Please. Go.” A frosty mutter. Each word formed icicles as they curled past his lips.

They had been in their father’s study. Gabe was sitting on the floor, elbows on his sky-­facing knees and his back leaning against a rich mahogany bookcase. The room smelled of tangy wood varnish, musty books, and freshly vacuumed rugs. It was eerily silent. Kayla’s footsteps echoed around the bookcase enclaves and high ceilings.

She’d sat down next to him and crossed her legs, trying to position herself so she looked less like a worried older sister and more like a warm friend. She plucked a rogue piece of fuzz from her jeans and rolled it absentmindedly between her thumb and forefinger. “Talk to me. Is it Zack?”

Gabe had scoffed. “If only.” He sat stock-­still. Like he was frozen.

“What is it?” she persevered, attempting to keep the edge of frustration out of her voice. Why was he being so hostile toward her? she had wondered. Toward their whole family? They’d always been supportive of him. But lately . . .

“Trust me, Kay. You don’t want to know. It’ll gnaw on your insides like a parasite.” Wisps of exhaustion spiraled around him like steam off tarmac on a hot, rainy day.

“Gabe, you’re worrying me. Please—­”

“I said go.” A glacial glare.

She’d gone.

Kayla thought about that day a lot. About how different everything could have been if she’d stayed.

S
H
E
H
A
D
A
N
O
T
H
E
R
nightmare that evening.

Veiny hands around Sam’s throat
.
His eyes bulging
.

She tried to dial 999
.
She got through to an operator, who kept demanding credit card payment in order to complete her request
.
She kept insisting there was no time—­he’d be dead before then
.
The operator hung up
.
She crushed her phone in her hand, and pain shot through her palm as the shattered screen sliced straight through the skin
.
Blood drenched the tiled floor
.

Sam’s face was purple
.
Frozen in a single expression of terror as his frantic gasps slowed and he realized that this was it
.
The end
.

The light behind his eyes was snuffed out, like moist fingers crushing a candle flame
.

The person whose hands were wrapped around Sam’s airwaves turned to face her
.

Their features started to come into focus
.
A dainty nose, long glossy hair, gaping red lips painted on like a creepy clown’s mouth
.

It was a woman
.
A laughing woman
.

Chapter 24

June 8, Thailand

O
LIVER
B
E
C
A
M
E
L
I
K
E
a shadow in Phuket. Wherever the group went, he was always there.

On that first night they spotted him in Soi Bangla, Kayla had stormed up to him and demanded to know what he was doing there, how he’d found them, why he wasn’t back in Bangkok awaiting the arrival of the next Escaping Grey group. He explained that his bosses had received some complaints of indecency, petty theft, and a lackluster approach to his job as a rep. He’d been sacked.

Typical Sam, Kayla thought, hiding a smile. He was too smart to punch Oliver square in the nose, or to reveal the sexual assault and land them with a trial.

Oliver had also explained that he was friends with Bling on Facebook, and she’d posted a picture of their villa online with the caption “Our Phuket home for the next few weeks!” He said he’d caught several buses back to the area to join those he considered his friends, and Kayla had assured him that he was by absolutely no means their friend, nor would he ever be. Oliver didn’t even flinch, he just took another swig of beer and smirked. Kayla found herself feeling irrationally angry at Bling for betraying their location. Then she felt angry at herself—­if she’d reported the incident when it happened, she would never have had to worry about Oliver’s whereabouts. He’d be behind bars, hopefully rotting in a Thai prison cell.

They had no idea where Oliver was staying or what he was doing. Especially not why he was there, though Kayla could hazard a guess. Every time she caught him staring at her from a bar or market stall, or every time she turned around to see him following them down the street, she felt queasy. She was constantly on edge, wondering when he’d pounce. When he’d finish what he started. What
she
started.

Without a regimented itinerary, the group was finding it hard to go out and do things. The extreme heat had hit the region later than usual that year, and the lure of an air-­conditioned flat beat the desire to explore, hands down. Russia and Sam, with their confidence, charisma, and above-­average looks, had both gotten jobs on the clubbing strip as a shot girl and flyer boy respectively, cleaning the bars before opening hours for some extra pennies. The other three spent their time alternating between watching the geriatric television set in the bungalow and lounging by the lake, deepening their tans and daydreaming about where they were going to go after Thailand. Kayla had been offered a job too but didn’t know if she could handle spending eight-­hour shifts out in the open for any male predators to prey on her. Not that the bungalow felt any safer—­she found herself double-­ and triple-­checking the locks every night, ensuring that every last window was bolted shut.

One night, she was restless. Lying in bed in the small hours of the morning, the nasal snore next to her prevented the fuzzy edges of sleep from forming around her overactive mind. The same mind that had, in turn, started to play cruel tricks on her. The creaking of the old building, the tin roof rattling in even the slightest breeze, and the oddly shaped shadows of eccentric tropical plants—­everything seemed amplified through the lens of fear, became imposing, intimidating, inhuman. The branches were warped, the leaves distorted, the flowers eerie, and her imagination had them dancing a tango of terror across the bedroom wall. It was like a morbid version of the Disney film
Fantasia
they’d been made to watch in middle school.

She and Bling were sharing a room, as were Russia and Dave. Sam was alone, in the tiny box room at the end of the corridor. Kayla imagined an intruder forcing his way into their villa, into her room. Bling’s petite stature would render her helpless against a muscular man—­Kayla didn’t know why, but she pictured her potential attacker as beefier than Oliver, with bulging biceps.

Whether it was lust, terror, or an electrically charged combination of the two that propelled Kayla through the hallway toward Sam’s bedroom, the anticipation caused the hairs on the back of her arms to stand on end. She knocked timidly on his door. No reply. She tried again, a little louder. A muffled sound vaguely resembling a response echoed through the thin door, and she pushed it open.

Even in the near blackness she could tell Sam was surprised to see her. He propped himself up on his elbows and blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to adapt to the dark. The white cotton bedsheets were tangled around his legs, and his tanned torso glistened with a thin layer of sweat—­the fan overhead had stopped spinning. Kayla flicked it back on using the dial next to the door frame. “Hey.” Her voice croaked. She was in desperate need of water, but the need to be next to Sam, to feel his skin on hers, was far greater.

“Kayla?”

“Yeah. Can I come in?”

“Oh, um . . . sure. What’s up?”
Where do I start?

“Can’t sleep.”
I’m petrified
.

“Me neither.” He unraveled the sheets and shifted his body to the side of the bed. He didn’t have to spell it out. Kayla crept forward and closed the door behind her. The room smelled of sweat and after-­sun lotion, and she could still taste the strawberry cider on her tongue from earlier.

Banishing her hesitance, she padded across the smooth tiled floor, but the bravado only lasted until she reached the bed, where she perched awkwardly on the edge. Sam chuckled. “Do I smell that bad?”

Kayla blushed more furiously than she had since she was fourteen. She was grateful for the dark. She slid her legs down the length of the bed and inched closer to Sam’s warm body. After she had lain rigidly on her back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, his hand found her hip. He rolled her body slightly away from him and curled his own around her, tucking his arm underneath hers and looping it around her waist. His face nuzzled her neck, and she could smell the sweet coconut shampoo on his hair.

“You fit perfectly,” he mumbled, planting a delicate kiss on the back of her neck. The spot of skin his lips brushed tingled. She wished he’d do it again, all over her body.

She tucked her knees up toward her chest as if curling around a ball, pushing her back even closer to Sam. She could feel him pressing against her, hard and firm, and wished she wasn’t wearing pajama shorts. An overwhelming longing pulsed through her veins; a delicious aching that, until now, she hadn’t fully realized Sam reciprocated.

The air-­conditioning had kicked in and the room was cooling rapidly. Sam wrapped his arms tighter around her. He slid her tank top strap halfway down her upper arm and swept her hair out of the way, kissing her warm, bare shoulder with tender pecks that lingered longer each time. She laced her fingers gently through his, careful not to squeeze his fractured hand. She started pulling him down toward the waistband of her shorts, edging his fingertips underneath the elastic.

“Kayla . . . are you sure you—­”

An aggressive ringing cut through the quiet. Kayla jumped with fright and crushed Sam’s hand, who yelped in pain like an injured puppy. On the bedside table next to Kayla’s head, his phone was vibrating and ringing shrilly, much louder than it seemed to during the day. Squinting at the screen, Kayla could only make out two words:
Unknown number
. The phone’s clock told her it was 3:33
A.M
.
Who on earth calls at this time?
It might have been someone calling from back home who didn’t understand the time difference, much like her nan. But something in the panicked expression on Sam’s face told Kayla it was more sinister than that.

She climbed out of bed and made for the door, not wanting to intrude on what she assumed would be a very private conversation.

Sam picked up the call without greeting the person on the other end. His voice went cold. “Now isn’t a good time. No . . . No!” He shot Kayla an apologetic glance and gulped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about . . .”

She left the room.